In Another Life
by Detached from reality
Summary: Tate Langon is a psychopathic murder too 'sick' to be sent to jail who is sentenced to life in at Briarcliff Manor. There he meets many of its residents, and one in particular catches his attention:Violet, the girl with the scars on her wrists. Meanwhile, the Asylum takes its toll on the minds of everyone inside. Will Violet help Tate keep what little sanity he has left?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So its been a while since I last wrote a fic, but I'm having a bunch of OTP feels and I needed to write Violate. **

**Summary: Tate Langon is a psychopathic murder too 'sick' to be sent to jail who is sentenced to life in at Briarcliff Manor. There he meets many of its residents, and one in particular catches his attention:Violet, the girl with the scars on her wrists. Meanwhile, the Asylum takes its toll on the minds of everyone inside. Will Violet help Tate keep what little sanity he has left? Or will the darkness of Briarcliff consume them both... **

**Disclaimer: I dont own the places or characters. If I did, Evan Peters would be wearing much less clothes. **

**Rating:T **

* * *

**Chapter One: Tate**

Tate Langdon had never been in a mental institution. In fact, the idea of even stepping foot in one had never even crossed his mind. From day one, the plan had been simple: take out as many poor bastards as he could before the cops took him out. His ending would involve no jail time, no dealing with his bitch of a mother… just death.

But Tate's life had never gone according to plan. He hadn't planned for the cops to make it to his house before he did. He hadn't expected them to be waiting for him with handcuffs and chains that they threw on so fast, he didn't even know what had hit him before he was shoved to the ground, hands restrained tightly behind his back. And he most defiantly hadn't planned on being locked away in a loony bin for life.

Sure, he wasn't normal. He was about as far from normal as someone could get. He didn't see the world like a normal teenage boy –or anyone for that matter-would. Instead of thinking about school and girls, his mind was filled with nothing but images of violence and gore. He could never bring himself to feel anything but anger and disgust for the world and all the people in it. To him, the planet was dirty, full or pain and suffering and evil. It was a fucking horror show. Nothing in it was pure.

Nothing but blood.

Blood cleaned impurities out. It spilled from the inside, untainted and fresh, covering his hands, his body, his world, in red. With blood came the peace and beauty of death. It brought Tate relief, and release from this world. It cured him of the constant itch under his skin, the hollowness in his bones, the voices in his head. It made him feel whole again. When he had a weapon in his hand, drawing that beautiful blood with a power that could only come from pure hatred, his mind finally felt clear. It felt right.

Sometimes, Tate thought, he was doing people a service. He wasn't their murderer, he was their savior. He removed them from the piss and the rot and the stench of the world. He saved them from the darkness that corrupted even the purest of souls, and he sent them to a better place… At least, that's how he saw it _sometimes_.

At other times, he just didn't want to have to look at their disgusting faces anymore.

Sure, he wasn't _normal_. But he wasn't crazy, and he sure as hell didn't want to go through the rest of his life surrounded by people who _were._ He could imagine himself, sitting in some padded room alone with his thoughts, tormented by the screams of those he had killed, but still itching somewhere deep inside to kill again. He would be alone with himself. That idea disturbed him far more than the company of lunatics would. Now he was going to be stuck here forever.

He wished the cops would have just shot him dead right in his room.

At least then it would be over already.

Slowly, Tate felt his containment truck ease to a stop, and large, armored doors were pried open with a rusty screech. Daylight flooded into the back of the car, and the blonde squinted his eyes, attempting to adjust his vision as a large gated building rose up in front of him. It was huge, about the size of a hospital, with red brick walls that had already seen too many winters, and a pointed roof that seemed to pierce the sky. After a moment, an armed guard yanked at his restraints, making sure they were secure, then shoved him out of the truck. Tate stumbled for a moment and swore, his cuffed hands making it hard for him to keep his balance, then regained his footing, noticing for the first time the people in space before him.

Reporters and photographers lined the path up the ward, the bulbs of their cameras flashing unceasingly. They angry shouted questions at him, some of which were almost downright laughable, and Tate threw them a taunting look, trying to push their buttons. But inside he was shaking with a mixture of anger and fear. More guards came up to surround him, whether it was to protect him from the crowd or the crowd from him, Tate wasn't sure, but he decided to believe it was the latter.

"Take a good look at the real world," The guard to his left said as he shoved him forward roughly. " Cause you're not getting out of this place. They never do."

Tate said nothing, blood pounded in his ears, his mind running through all the ways he could rip the smug look off of the mans face if his hands weren't cuffed. He imagined taking a knife to his mouth and carving him up like a pumpkin. The idea wasn't half bad, and it made his head spin with a thousand more possibilities.

He was still thinking these things when they shut the gates behind him, drowning out the sound of the reporters and cameras. Even when he entered the ward, its cold stone walls rising up around him like a fortress, the thoughts wouldn't leave.

They were his addiction, his drug, his only escape.

They kept him company as he was led through the halls of what would soon become the rest of his life, his eyes falling upon his surroundings but taking nothing in, as he let the darkness consume him.

* * *

**A/N: Okay Guys, so I hope to be updating this pretty regularly, with it being Nanowrimo and all! The next chapter should be longer than this, but its one a.m. and I have a Chem test in the morning. haha. Anyways, constructive criticism is always welcome! Mostly, I'm wondering about his voice, does it need improving? Please help me out! This is a learning process!**  
**Review's are lovely :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi everyone! This chapter is a little bit longer this time, and chapter three should be even longer still. **

**Now for the big Note: I'm not sure who all I should bring in from Asylum or if I should just keep it with the staff. I really wasn't planning on having Kit there for obvious reasons of appearances, but at the same time, It think it would be very interesting to have them meet. (but then would it get too complicated? ugh) I'd love to hear your opinions, because I have another plot that doesn't evolve him or Grace and one that can involve them, but at the moment, it could still go both ways.**

**What do you think? Any particular characters you would like to see?  
**

**Disclaimer: I dont own AHS. If I did, everything would be violate and nothing would hurt. (or it would just hurt in a good way)  
**

* * *

Tate's room was no more than a cell, containing a single cot and a small window, and as he awoke to the sound of a nun ordering everyone out of bed, the boy couldn't help but notice the walls around him. They were bare and cracked, as blank and broken as the people who resided here. Or at least he assumed that was the case. The head of the Institution, Sister Jude or Jenny or something, had put him through a rigorous and painful sort of 'disinfecting' process the night before, and so far, Tate had met none of the other residents. He wasn't exactly itching to become best friends with a crazy person, not really. But something inside of him wanted to meet someone who was less normal than himself. Maybe he'd look more human in comparison. Or maybe that's not how it worked around here.

Maybe once you're labeled insane, it sticks for life.

Out of nowhere, A mouse scurried across his floor and out the crack in the floorboards. Constance would hate it here, the boy sat up in his bead and stretched, his eyes taking in the room with slight amusement at the thought. The décor would drive her mad. In all honesty, that idea made Tate like the room a little bit more.

In a matter of minutes, a young nun with blond hair came past his cell, looking in his small window wearily and then turning the key. She opened the door, two male attendants by her side, and shot him a small smile. "You have free time until breakfast, then you're scheduled to work in the kitchen today. Follow me." She made sure he stayed by the men and continued to make her rounds, taking out certain people and ushering them behind her. Once a crowd had gathered, the nun began walking, turning this way and that, patients and attendants alike on her heels, until she came to a door labeled 'Common Room'. The various patients rushed in, some with fabulous speed, and others with a dreamlike stroll. Eventually, the people of the institution seemed to fall into their own personal pattern, some playing songs and dancing, others simply sitting alone and staring off into space. Everyone seemed to be occupied, hiding in their own little world, oblivious to anything and everything around them. It seemed the mentally ill and the mentally sane weren't so different after all. In fact, Tate could barely see a difference. Everybody in the world was crazy, it just so happened that these peoples' brand of crazy was unacceptable to society.

No one paid Tate any mind, but he was okay with that. He was tired from the events of last night, his body still sore, his eyelids heavy, and he needed somewhere to gather his thoughts. Nowhere was quiet.

For a moment, Tate was at a loss. Everyone here had a rut, a habit they got stuck in, and a routine they followed. They were all content to do as they most likely always had and always would do. Day after day after day. It was disgusting. It was enough to drive you mad—if you weren't already. Since he had no interest in dancing to the same song repeatedly or banging his head against a wall, (though the more he had to hear that song, the more promising beating his brains out seemed) Tate set his eyes on a threadbare couch in the corner of the room, far away from everyone else. Far away from the madness.

He began to make his way over to it, looking closely at the people around him. They interested him in a way. The darkness of their insanity proved what he had always known—that the corruption of the world tears at your mind. Now he was seeing this first hand.

A woman with eyes that seemed far too wide stepped in front of Tate, her lips parting in what seemed like a smile, her teeth like daggers protruding from pink flesh.

"What's a baby like you doing here?" She asked, her breath hot and putrid in his face as she circled him, as if sizing him up, searching for his weak point. "Did you get lost on your way to school?" Her smile never left her face, but her words were icy. "Did mommy get tired of you and drop you off?" She asked.

He looked up at her and scoffed. If he wasn't so tired, he would be able to counter her sorry jibes easily. But right now, he just wanted to rest. Besides, he didn't care what this freak had to say about his mom. He'd be happy to never see her again. This woman was annoying, but she wasn't worth it.

Sensing no reaction, she pried deeper. "Or was it your daddy who didn't want to see that pretty face ever again?" Without a moment's thought Tate's eyes shot up to meet hers, something inside his stomach clenching tightly. She smiled wider now, proud to have received a reaction, as Tate tensed, his fists balling up so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palms.

"Daddy didn't want you. Daddy didn't want you." She chanted happily, her eyes wide and wild.

"Shut up." His voice was tight and low, his teeth gnashing together as he spoke. He pushed past the woman, repeating a mantra in his mind. _Just walk away. Just walk away. _But he knew it was no use. He hadn't listened to that voice in a long time. He could end her and he would enjoy every minute of it. Nevertheless, Tate somehow still found it in him to turn from her, going back towards the chair in the corner of the room.

In a moment he was cut off again by the bitch as she stood before him, a childlike stubbornness gracing her features.

"Move." His voice was low and cold. She had no idea what he could do to her. The darkness seemed to creep in again as his heart sped up, his mind spinning. He didn't care what the nuns would do to him, it would worth it to get this bitch to shut up.

"Or what, daddy's boy?" She reached out her hand and prodded him in the chest once, twice, before Tate caught her hand in the air, squeezing it tightly. Her fingers were thin and frail, he could snap them like twigs. He gripped them even tighter, and the woman's smile faltered as she hissed in pain. Tate didn't even notice. He was seeing red now, and his mind began to slip as he fell further and further into an animal like state of rage. Did it really matter what he did to her? He knew for a fact no one would miss her. He could easily snap her bones, strangle the air from her lungs. He could-

"Hey Lady," a girls voice rang out from behind him, and Tate, surprised by the sound, loosened his grip, as if waking from a trance. "Sister Mary Eunice wants to see you. Something about you hiding your meds?" The voice continued, and he watched as the woman before him's face turned to a mask of worry. She cursed, and set off towards the doors.

He turned around then, and looked at the person who had spoken.

She was about his age, maybe a year younger, with tangled but clean hair that fell haphazardly around her shoulders. Her skin was pale and seemed paper thin, and she kept her distance from Tate, her arms turned inward and hugging herself.

A ghost of a smile flashed across the girls face as she watched the woman leave, and Tate knew from that moment that the story had been a lie. But who was this girl? And why would she possibly be in a place like this? She seemed sane enough, but then again everyone had thought he was normal at first too. Could she be mad? Even more so than the other woman? He searched her features, not attempting to hide the fact that he was staring. And he wondered if perhaps he could see her sanity, catch it in the tilt of her head or the way she help her hands.

In the end it was her eyes that gave it away. They gave _too much_ away really. Her gaze didn't look crazy or mad, it just looked tired and...sad, as though the world had lost all of its color long ago. He knew that look, though he couldn't quite place it.

She turned to go, her arms still clutching herself, but her eyes glanced up to meet his for a split second..

He didn't want her to go, not yet. Though he couldn't possibly find a reason as to why. She interested him, he supposed. By the way she held her sleeves down over her hands, the way she seemed to hide behind her curtain of hair, withdrawn from him, from the world.

"You didn't have to do that." Tate said calmly, still processing the girls actions. Sure, she was intersting, but he didn't need to be saved by some girl. He'd had everything under control. He didn't need-

"But...Thanks" Tate suddenly found himself saying, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. In all honesty, he had surprised himself. He couldn't even remember the last time he had said that to...anyone. That is, not including the times he'd said it sarcastically.

The girl looked at him suspiciously, as if there was some ulterior motive for his thanks. Maybe there was, he thought, she was kinda hot after all.

"I didn't do it for you." She stated defensively, her eyes searching his face, taking in his every move. _Trying to see if he was crazy._ "I just really hate that woman. And I wanted to wipe that grin off of her face." She gave him one last distrustful glance then turned around and walked away, leaving Tate alone again.

Alone with his thoughts.

They were still full of darkness, and his mind continued to dance around images of blood and violence. Even that night the thoughts couldn't seem to leave, they never had, and he knew they most likely never would. They were a part of his existence, a part of who he was. It was all he'd ever known. Darkness. Pain. Blood. Anger.

But for once, another thought seemed to creep into his dreams that night. It was alien. Unfamiliar. And at first, it actually made him feel strange, uneasy. Yet for some reason, the thought wouldn't go away. It lingered, and he thirsted for more, in a way that he had only before thirsted for blood.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so they met! Woo. Remember to update me on how I'm doing, especially with his voice, which as I mentioned before, has been a stuggle for me. And tell me what you'd like to see! The next chapter is where things will start to pick up a lot and I'm very excited to finish it up and post it! SO MANY FEELINGS.  
Also, thankyou to everyone who reviewed chapter one! You're all super shiny! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know I should be on my knees apologizing right now. But even that wouldn't be enough. But I'm so so sorry for not updating for so long. After a while, I considered stopping this story. But unfortunately, you guys are stuck with me as I've picked it back up! So I'm writing this again and will be updating much more. Sorry again! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own AHS or the characters. **

* * *

There was something beautiful about blood, Violet thought, as she watched it sprout from her fresh wounds like bright red roses on her pale skin, bringing color into a world of dreary white and grey.

She had never been an idealist or an optimist. She could never seem to see the world like the others did. She found the darkness in the corners of the brightest of places. She could find the lies carefully hidden in words of love and forgiveness. She saw through all of the fake smiles and false charity. But most of all, Violet wasn't afraid to call people on their bullshit.

But she couldn't seem to see past it either. Her life was far from perfect- no, her life was a mess. And unlike her parents, she wasn't the type of person to paste on a happy face and 'attempt to put her life back together'. It just didn't work for her. Because no matter how happy and healthy she might have pretended to be, it wouldn't have changed anything. It would have still been an act, put up for the sake of her family.

So she had stopped pretending. She called bullshit.

_And look how good that turned out for you_, Violet thought to herself as she sat in her small cell of a room.

There was nothing but a cot in the far corner. Somewhere in the mattress of that cot, tucked away, was a picture of Violets family that she had smuggled in with her. The corners were worn from repeatedly crumpling it up and throwing it out in anger and frustration. But no matter how many times she threw it out, she'd always find herself rummaging through the bin until her hands wrapped around the small snapshot. She couldn't abandon them. Not fully. Even if it seemed they had abandoned her when they threw her in this hellhole.

Aside from the bed, her room was completely bare for 'safety reasons', but Violet just assumed they were using the room's bleakness to suck out her soul instead. She would be easier to treat that way after all.

For the second time that day, she dug her fingernails into the flesh above her hip, where no one could see it, her heart racing slightly. Of course she didn't have her blades anymore, but at least she could still find a way to bleed. She would always find a way. She would make new scars. Because now, it was about more than just releasing negativity. It was about more than just dealing with her issues. Now, it was an act of defiance.

They had taken everything from her, but her body was still her own. The blood in her veins was still hers. And though the medication may have made her mind fuzzy, as if she was walking in her sleep, she was still alive. The blood was proof. The pain was proof.

* * *

The day went by slowly for Tate as he went about his routine. He had just finished breakfast, and now the sisters were taking the patients to the kitchens to begin baking. He didn't really get the whole 'cooking' thing. He was never much of a cook himself, but he found it strange that these people -who apparently couldn't even function properly in everyday life- were expected to bake. Baking was _hard._

He had only really baked something once or twice in his lifetime. The second time had been on his sister's birthday, back when the family was all still together. She had been excited about it that year, more excited than usual. And Constance had forgotten…again. She was passed out on the couch all day, so hungover she was probably still drunk, and Tate had locked himself in his room. Again.

And then he heard it. Addie singing happy birthday to herself. Over and over and over.

Tate couldn't handle it. If his mother had done even a half-assed attempt at parenting, his sister would at least be getting a present this year. But she wasn't even trying. And for once, instead of screaming at his mother all the words he wanted to say, Tate went for a different approach.

He was going to give his sister a birthday she would never forget. He was going to make up for that monster's short comings.

Or at least that was his intention. In the end, the cake collapsed and the candles set the fire alarm off, rousing Constance from her sleep.

It was the last birthday Addie would have at the house, and it had ended with nothing but bruises and screamed curses.

Tate sighed slightly as he made his way towards the kitchens with the other patients.

He wondered what exactly they made them do in the kitchen. Did they expect the insanity to _bake_ right out of them? It was ridiculous.

But then, another thought hit him. A thought that caused his breath to hitch in his throat. _All kitchens had knives. _They had to right? How else could they get anything done. Even with a butter knife he could do damage. It would be easy as pie. And he _had_ to do something. The voices and the headaches never went away. They actually seemed to grow worse with this new medication. As if it was cleansing him of his human side. The thought should have scared him, if only just a little. But his mind was too far gone by now, only to be brought back as he entered the kitchen.

_They have to be around here. Maybe they're hidden, but they're still here. I just have to-_

"Hey kid." A woman's voice rang out from somewhere to his left, and Tate spun around in somewhat of a haze, his mind still on more important things. "You're new. I saw you in the common room yesterday." A young woman stood next to him, apron tied around her waist, flour already covering her hands. Her hair was cut short and choppy and it feathered around her inquiring face.

Tate didn't have time for this. He had to find them...

"That lady was bad news."

Maybe they were under the cabinets...

"She lures people into hurting her. Gets them sent to solitary, or worse, the doctor. Maybe she gets some sort of sick kick out of it, or maybe she's in cahoots with the madman, I'm not sure." The woman continued, keeping her voice just above a whisper, looking around to make sure no one was listening. Or maybe she was looking _for_ someone...

"Basically, you're lucky Violet came in when she did."

Tate looked up at the woman, now, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. _So the girls name is Violet..._ "Yeah." Tate answered, matching the woman's hushed tone, a smile somehow finding its way onto his lips without his permission. The girl had helped him even more than he had originally thought. "I guess so."

"I was kinda surprised she intervened at all, to be honest. I've known her since she first got thrown in here about a year ago. She doesn't usually bother with other people. Keeps to herself."

He imagined Violet sitting alone in the chair in the corner, watching the people, her hands tugging on her sleeves. Alone. Isolated. Detached. The image wasn't too surprising. After all, Tate wasn't too keen on socializing with these freaks either. However, he still wondered about the girl, and why she was here.

"Violet is a good kid, a little rough around the edges, but over all, she doesn't deserve-"

"Grace," The young blonde nun from before was behind them, her eyes narrowed slightly at the woman. "This isn't a social time. Sister Jude wants you all to do your best baking. Remember, its part of your therapy." She added with a tight lipped smile before walking away to scold another patient.

The woman-Grace-rolled her eyes. "therapy my ass." She watched the sister leave without attempting to hide her hatred. "_Slaves_ is what we are. Just extra bodies for them to play with. To mutilate." She hissed the last words, her fists clenching slightly at her sides.

Tate looked at her questioningly. He was about to ask what exactly she had meant, but the look on her face cut him short. Grace said no more, instead she looked around one more time, her eyes searching the room again, and apparently she didn't find what she had been looking for. Soon, she began kneading the dough with such angry force, Tate imagined the table would snap at any minute.

He didn't try to ask any more questions after that.

Eventually, their shift ended, and the patients began filing out of the kitchen. Tate was the last to go. He lingered behind, giving the kitchen one final glance. He didn't belong here. And once he found what he needed. A knife, a wrench, _something._ He could get out. He would just have to _make_ them let him out. He clenched his fists turned towards the door.

They had to be in here somewhere.

* * *

The common room was emptier that day, and Tate noticed an air of uneasiness amongst a few of the patients. A woman with brown shoulder length hair was speaking to Grace in the corner, quickly taking a note down every moment or so on a small piece of paper before hiding it in her gown. Tate began to walk towards the pair, Grace having been one of the only semi-decent people he had met so far. Sure, he wasn't positive if he could trust her. Hell, he wasn't sure he even _liked_ her all that much at this point. But he knew he needed to find a place and blend in if he was going to stay under the radar.

He made his way over to women, walking this way and that to avoid other patients when something made him stop in his tracks.

Violet was standing in the back of the room. Her back against the far wall, her eyes slitted with anger at a blonde figure in front of her. She whispered something incomprehensible to the woman before her, and the stranger launched herself at Violet, grabbing onto her hair. Violet let out a small yelp but quickly gritted her teeth, kicking at the woman's shins fiercely. The blonde collapsed, pulling Violet on the floor with her. Soon, the two were nothing but a tangle of hospital gowns and fists, each clawing at the other in a frenzy. Other patients began to crowd around to get a better look.

Tate stood for a moment watching them in shock. From the corner of his eye, Tate saw Grace and the older woman, begin inching towards the back door, their eyes constantly on the orderlies that were making their way through the crowd to break up the fight.

They were going to get Violet… and something inside him was not willing to let that happen.

He launched himself into the scrap, his strong hands grabbing onto an arm and yanking a figure from the other-Violet.

"You need to stop." He warned, trying to keep his voice even.

Violet shot him a look of frustration and pulled her hand free before glancing at the girl on the ground. She was struggling to get up, her hands shaking. Violet was pretty banged up too, and bruises were already beginning to form on her arms, but she didn't seem to notice or care. Her lip was split and bleeding, and Violet ran her tongue over the cut, assessing the damage.

It was this action that distracted Tate for a moment before a commotion sounded from somewhere behind him. He could just make out the orderlies advancing towards them, making their way through a sea of patients. Without thinking, he grabbed her arm once more and began running, pulling her through the crowd and away from the staff.

"What the hell?!" Violet complained, attempting to free her wrist, her eyes were wide, with fear or confusion, he couldn't tell. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Tate pulled Violet towards the common room exit, his hand gripping her's tighter than he'd intended. "Saving your ass." he yelled behind him with a smirk, but inside he had to admit, he was actually a little worried. He had heard about what they did to unruly patients in places like this. And though it normally wouldn't bother him much- the pain, the blood, the torture- he didn't want them to to that to her. She had helped him, and he owed it to her to do the same. Sure, He was a lot of things, and honorable was probably not one of them, but sometimes it never hurt to make an exception.

So he continued to run.

By some weird spark of luck, the door was unlocked and unguarded. It was perfect, almost as if it was planned that way. The two burst out of the room and down the corridor, their feet pounding rhythmically against the cold stone floor like some sort of ancient tribal drum. The turned left and then right, passing the kitchen, cell blocks, and containment rooms, their breaths coming out in short gasps. Footsteps sounded out from behind them and Tate rounded yet another corner, in an attempt to lose their pursuers. Violet was running with him now, her hand slipped out of his, but she had given up on struggling against him long ago. There was something about her coming with him willingly,that made Tate want to smile. It was definitely something he wasn't used to.

"Turn here." Violet said, pointing to a door to the left about three feet ahead. Tate looked at her curiously, but complied, and Violet opened the door without much of a struggle-it was unlocked.

The door revealed a staircase, dusty and decrepit, that seemed to go on and on, up into a dusty oblivion. Tate started up it, but Violet moved in front of him, blocking his path. She put a hand on his chest and a finger to her lips-telling him to stay quiet and still-just as the sound of heavy footfalls passed their hiding spot. Neither of them spoke or moved for a long time. They were so close. Tate could almost make out ever hair on her head, every eyelash shrouding her deep brown eyes.

Finally, she spoke, leaning in an inch closer so that her harsh whisper could be heard.

"I'll ask you again: What the hell were you doing?"

Tate was taken aback. He had expected something else. Thanks maybe? At least a bit of gratitude. This was not what he had wanted…not what he had expected. However, instead of being angry or upset or any of those things. He was simply curious…and a little disappointed, that things weren't going how he had planned.

"I was trying to help you." He smiled smugly. He _had_ helped her after all. Without him she would be-

"Did it _look_ like I needed help?" Violet hissed, her hands on her hips. "I was doing just fine."

Tate simply looked at her, amusement dancing in his eyes at her words.

"How is getting your hair ripped out 'doing just fine'?"

"That's not what I meant." Violet huffed, a little bit of pride sinking into her voice. Tate searched her face, only to find a smug smirk lacing the corners of her lips, a secret lodged in the corner of her mouth. She grinned a bit larger, a real smile flashing across her face for a fleeting moment, and then reached into her pocket, her hand retreating to reveal a pack of camel cigarettes. "Like I said, I was doing fine."

Tate eyed her curiously, trying to put the pieces together. That's all he ever seemed to be able to do with this girl. She was a puzzle, that was for sure.

So the fight had been staged? Or at least incited on purpose, all so she could steal the woman's cigarettes? He had to admit, the girl had guts. He was liking her more and more by the second.

"All for some Camels?" He was surprised and he let it show in his tone as he stared at her, eyebrows raised, taking her in. "Weren't you worried about the guards at all?"

"I knew all about the orderlies." Violet cut him off with an uninterested wave of her hand.

Somehow, Tate found himself smiling. She really was an interesting case…

"Then why..?"

She didn't answer, instead she turned away from the door. Then, Violet began climbing the stairs. "Come on, there's something I need to show you."

Tate followed after her, noting the way she simply walked ahead, expecting him to follow, but not forcing him to. Not dragging him along like he had done to her, or like his mother had to him, holding him by his wrist so he couldn't escape. Making him feel trapped. Simply trusting him to come after her. And not once did she look back with suspicion. She wasn't scared of him. And for once, something inside him hoped that she never would be. He wasn't usually like this, so bothered by the idea of losing someone he had just met. And he couldn't seem to figure out why she interested him as much as she did.

_Because she's your friend._ A voice said from some dark place deep inside. _And you know what happens to all of your friends._

* * *

**A/N: Wow so I'm actually not too happy with this chapter but I felt like I should post it already considering how long I made everyone wait. Please Review so I know what I can work on. And if you have any ideas I'm always open to hear them!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: If for some reason you are still with me then I applaud you. I really liked this chapter! However, I know the posts are pretty spaced apart so I'd be surprised if anyone was still with me. Anyways, if you are- thanks a lot and I'm sorry about the delay!**

**Edit: I momentarily updated with the wrong file (it was my unedited one so there was a few mistakes) Sorry! this is hopefully the correct one now. **

* * *

The room above them was covered in dust. Forgotten relics of the past lined the walls, their true forms covered in tattered sheets and blankets, making them resemble ghosts in the misty light. It was the attic of Briarcliff, Tate realized. Most likely used for storage, judging by the look of the place.

Why were they up here?

Violet made her way across the room with purposeful strides, moving over to the far corner and yanking one of the canvases off of a chest, sending a wave of dust flying into the air. The dim beams of light coming from a small window at the top of the room filled with swirls of tiny particles, dancing this way and that in a non-existent wind.

Tate would have never known just how dirty the room was, had it not been for that beam of light. He would have been content to stay, breathing in the filthy air without a second thought. But he wasn't thinking about this now, he barely gave the room a passing glance.

He was too busy looking at the girl in front of him. She was bent over, looking at the inside of the newly revealed trunk, digging through it lazily for a few moments. He liked how she moved, every motion slower, more calculated, more in control.

There was nothing controlled about him, he knew, and some part of him longed to get closer to her, to learn to move in the ways she did. With purpose, like she made an effort to do every act.

He watched her, not attempting to hide his stare, as she rummaged through the trunk for another minute or so, before finally finding what she was looking for.

"Finally," Violet whispered under her breath, her voice sounding tired, but relieved.

She turned back to face Tate, holding a wooden box in her hand. Opening it slowly, she reached in to reveal a lighter, and wrapped her hands around the metal cylinder with care. Then, she glanced up at Tate and gave him a half smile. It wasn't a real smile, not really, and it didn't exactly reach her eyes, but it was something.

She lit one of her stolen cigarettes and brought it to her lips, taking a long drag before exhaling slowly, her eyes fluttering closed.

"You want one?" she asked Tate without opening her eyes, holding out the pack in his direction.

He shrugged and took one, rolling it between his fingers. He wasn't one to smoke much, and he usually preferred something stronger the nicotine, but right now, it seemed like the acceptable thing to do.

He lit his cigarette and returned the lighter to the girl before him. Violet placed it back in the box, then wrapped the box up with an old gown before stowing it back in the large chest. She gave the chest one loving tap and hopped up on top of it, crossing her legs and leaning back on her free hand.

"Why go through all the trouble to hide it?" Tate asked after her little ritual was over, noting the care she took into concealing the simple box. "I see patients smoking all the time. Why can't you?"

She took another drag and blew, not meeting his gaze.

"They won't let me have a lighter...or cigarettes." She tugged at her sleeves with her free hand-a nervous habit that Tate had begun to notice-and turned back to look him in the eyes. She looked more annoyed than anything, but he noticed how guarded she seemed, even now. The excitement of escape was already fading from the atmosphere; her walls were coming up again. Tate didn't want that.

"That sucks." he tried to sympathize. It was stupid for them to keep such a simple thing away from her. What could it hurt?

"Yeah." She sighed. "Anything that burns is off limits, and a lot of other things too." She flicked her ashes onto the floor, not giving them a second glance.

Tate was even more interested now. So she wasn't allowed to have anything that was remotely dangerous? It was odd. She didn't seem like the type for mindless violence. She was so collected, so calm. So...unlike him. And granted, she did get into a fight with a patient over cigarettes, but he didn't think she was ever actually planning on seriously hurting her. She didn't seem like the kind of person that would hurt someone for no reason. And it wasn't because she was weak, just...different. From him. From the other patients. From everyone else he'd ever met.

_Then why?_

The question never left his lips, but he was burning with curiosity, as he asked himself for not the first time just why she was here. Actually, he couldn't help but wonder why a lot of the patients were here. The woman he spoke with earlier seemed sane enough. But he supposed he seemed sane too at first, and according to the bastards that threw him in this hellhole, that wasn't the case.

A silence had fallen upon the room and Violet seemed to tense under Tate's gaze, her cigarette hanging unused between her fingertips.

"No one has any freedom anymore." He sighed.

Tate felt that way, he really did. Everybody was slaves to something, in one way or another. They said that you had a choice about your life and what you did with it, but that was bullshit. Everyone was expected to do the same thing, over and over. Get up, go to school, graduate, get a job, have a family, and then die. That was it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Freedom was an illusion. And people just put up with it, content to sit and rot and wait to die. It didn't make any sense. At least he would have been in control of his own fate and his own death. Or at least, that had been the plan.

Suddenly, the look in Violet's eyes brought him back from his thoughts.

Violet was openly staring at Tate, looking at him like he had just called the sky green.

"Of course we don't have freedom," She blew out smoke from between her lips and looked away. "We're living in a place where they strap you to the bed at night."

"They strap you to the bed?" Just like that, another spark went off in Tate's head, feeding his flaming curiosity. They hadn't done that to him, and that was saying something.

"People like me? Yeah."

He couldn't read her voice. Tate smirked, half of his mouth quirking up at the side.

"-kinky bastards." he swore, flashing a glimpse of white teeth.

Violet looked at him for a second, and then the corners of her lips turned to up into a smile. A real smile, the kind that met her eyes, and she laughed quietly.

"Totally," she said, looking somewhat surprised at her own laughter. "Who knows what kind of shit these people get off on. I swear to god, the doctors here are just as mental as the patients." She smiled again as she spoke, blowing smoke through the corner of her mouth.

"Not to mention the fact that they strip search you when you first get in. I'm sure it wasn't even necessary." Tate glanced with a smile and lowered his voice in feigned secrecy. "The sisters probably just wanted to check out my ass."

Now they were both laughing a little, looking slightly more relaxed, more comfortable in their own skin.

It was odd, Tate noted, being so at ease in such a dark, dreary place. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. Hadn't talked to another person for the simple sake of conversation. Hadn't wanted to just get to know someone for the sake of knowing them, drinking up every clue and hint about them as they were water in the desert.

And he realized at that moment, that he felt almost...normal. In fact, the whole time he was with Violet he hadn't thought about blood, or murder, or getting back at those bastards who put him here. He hadn't been angry or upset.

It was almost as if he was a different person entirely. It scared him, just a little bit, that so much could change so fast. But...he liked it.

Tate just didn't know how long it would last. Because even as they sat there talking, laughing and smoking, he knew this feeling couldn't stay forever. Could it?

Or would it disappear the second he was alone again, left to the devices of his own mind?

He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

And yet, here Violet was, putting out her cigarette on the damp attic floor, her eyes downcast, the laughter fading.

"We'd better get back. Before they figure out where our little hideout is."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the wait! Please review so I know if this story is worth continuing? **


End file.
